Simon's Tale
by WishIWould
Summary: Based on Daughter of the Forest. I follow Simon's plot line, which was understood in DotF, but not explored. I am writing it so those who have not read DotF can still enjoy. The ital. at top of each part are direct quotes from DotF.
1. No Storyteller

**The italics prefacing every section are direct quotes from ****Daughter of the Forest**

* * *

_A tale can start in many ways.  
Thus, it is many tales, and at the same time each of them is but one way of telling the same story… _

I am not a teller of tales. I never have been, and I never will be. As a Briton, I haven't a childhood filled with stories and magic, Fair Folk and Fomhoire, as the children of Eire have. I was raised in a British household, younger brother to Hugh of Harrowfield – and while I would not inherit all my father's lands, nor rule with wealth and fame as my brother would, I spent my childhood trained in the same rigorous mode as he. There was no place for tales and lore in the life of a Briton.

There was a girl…the grandest teller of tales in all the earth. Her voice is soft and smooth, her hands the gentlest in the world. She is so different from me, so different from any creature in the world. She is a child of Eire, and her life is filled with tales. Her life itself is a tale, and I've become enchanted by her….

Somehow, the predictable line of my life became entangled with her story. Many have heard, many know her story – the miracle of her endurance, her strength. How she endured years of silence to restore her six brothers from their cursed form as swans. Perhaps you might have heard my name somewhere in the tale…perhaps not. But Sorcha's story is also, in part, my story, and my story hers. For Sorcha is the heart of my tale – its beginning, middle and end.

I am no teller of tales. My story won't attain the fame of hers. Perhaps it's not as grand. But at last, this Briton must tell the story that has haunted him for more than a lifetime….


	2. The Long Lake

Part One: Soldier

_There were once two brothers. This is the tale of the younger brother, who was clever and skillful and wild, a man with curling hair the color of summer sun on a barley field…_

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Chapter One: The Long Lake

Carefully, almost soundlessly, Simon emerged from the dark forest. Soldiers around him eyed the sharp drop-off not feet away from them with visible unease – a few shuddered imperceptibly as they peered over the precipice's edge to view the rocks on the lakeshore below. However, Simon inhaled the open air deeply, his face upturned to the sky.

"Been missing it, eh?" Kendrick's gravelly voice breathed as he, too, turned to face the horizon.

Simon grunted in response. "I don't know how the natives stand it," he said. "How can they live, creeping beneath these dense forests, where you can't breathe or see a hand's breadth beyond your face?"

Kendrick laughed, the sound rasping from his throat. "You mean you truly prefer open fields and skies to bleak and treacherous woods? Perhaps a big, strong sixteen-year-old like yourself just needs enough big, strong space."

Simon's tan cheeks flushed barely as he remembered the blind panic he'd experienced his first day ashore on this accursed island – the land of Eire, they called it. The place certainly did raise ire, for after weeks of Simon laughing at the older soldiers' seasickness, they mocked him to no end for his uncontrollable fear of confined spaces, despite their similar feelings. Although he had forced himself to overcome this fear, the sight of an open gray sky brought him almost tangible relief.

Choosing to recover as much of his pride as possible, Simon laughed as if he, too, found the memory amusing. 

But Kendrick's thick eyebrows rose suddenly, and Simon turned to see what had caught his attention. The leader of this expedition, Lord Richard of Northwoods, beckoned the hundred men forward silently. He seemed to be giving Simon a particularly stern look.

"Perhaps it will serve us best if we lower our voices, for the time being," Kendrick whispered. Simon gave him a pained look.

"Why must he always single me out?" He complained, though he whispered as quietly as Kendrick had.

"What, you mean besides the fact that you're the youngest soldier here? Perhaps the fact that you're his nephew, and that Lady Ann would have his head, should something happen to you."

Simon smiled, though he did not laugh aloud as he had before. They were, after all, in enemy territory. Even as the band of men moved along the curving edge of the forest, he could see Kendrick's eyes whizzing back and forth across the surrounding countryside.

"What are you doing?" Simon whispered. "Why aren't you keeping your eye on the trail?"

"Simon, you have much to learn," seemed to be all the response Kendrick would give. Simon felt a pinprick to his pride, despite, or perhaps because of, the years of experience Kendrick had over him. Before he responded, however, the older man continued.

"I'm studying the landscape," he said. "We may not have another opportunity to see the layout of the land from above, as we do now. And we'll most likely camp near this ridge – probably further north."

Simon could understand how Kendrick had surmised as much. The stretch of treeless earth between the forest and the cliff could only be six feet wide, at most. The hundred or so men had to thin themselves out into a triple-file line in order to stay clear of the trees and the precipice.

"How much do you know about the land?" Kendrick asked, eyeing Simon keenly.

"Well…" he mumbled, caught off guard. "We're traveling in Seamus Redbeard's lands now, right?"

Simon instantly cursed himself for ending with a question, rather than giving a confident impression. However, Kendrick made no point of it.

"Right. And the water below us – that's the long lake. It stretches for miles, but with little depth or width, and no flow. That is part of what's so treacherous about it – the rocks at the bottom remain as sharp as ever, because there's no current to erode them. A man falling into them has little chance for survival."

Simon nodded carefully, wishing to convey that he, too, had deduced as much. He wondered how –

A sudden commotion near the front of the line cut off his wandering thoughts. A dark-haired native appeared out from the forest, grabbing an unwary soldier from behind and slitting his throat. He dropped the body, darting northward toward the wider clearing before anyone could reciprocate.

"We're under attack! All men forward!" Lord Richard roared, drawing his sword. He led the men as they rushed to the clearing, and Simon began to follow – but he was held back by Kendrick's strong grip on his shoulder.

"Wait," is all the distracted swordsman could mutter before spinning toward the forest in their rear. Simon followed suit, feeling the other soldiers' bodies pressing against him as they surged the opposite direction. For a moment, his breath left him. Hundreds of wild men materialized from the shadows of the trees, sinewy arms bearing steely swords and daggers. The bulk of the Irish forces…and the British troops were distracted at the front of the line.

"A decoy," Simon muttered. "That man at the front - was a decoy!" But he had to raise his sword quickly, for one of the savages was almost upon him. The weight of the stronger man's sword against his own was far more than Simon could have anticipated, but he held as long as he could, arms shaking with the effort.

Only Kendrick had the presence of mind to call the other soldiers back to aid them. However, as the English band began to turn around, more wild men jumped from the forest northward, some slitting British throats before the soldiers were even aware. Other Irish sprang from the forest and kept running, using their momentum and powerful arms to send men flying over the cliff edge and to their deaths on the rugged rocks below.

It took a moment, but Simon's training clicked in before he realized what he was doing. He ducked beneath his foe's sword, using his own to twist the blade away, simultaneously kicking his legs into the other man's stomach as he rolled. He used his and the other man's momentum to send his opponent flying off the cliff edge.

Thanks to Kendrick's quick eye, no native attacked Simon in the vulnerable moment between sending the soldier over the edge and getting back to his feet. However, Kendrick could not defend his young friend for long, for the Irish attack was mounting.

Simon gave the older man a nod of gratitude before rejoining the fray with zeal. Though the Irishmen had only twice the number of men in the British band, their skill was great; it would not be an easy battle against blundering farmers, as Simon's only previous experience had been.

Distracted, Simon did not realize his dangerous proximity to the cliff edge until his opponent had backed him against it. The precarious edge, made up of only dirt and small rocks, crumbled beneath Simon's weight. The last he saw was his opponent's victorious smirk, and Kendrick's wide-eyed terror as Simon slipped from his sight.

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**A/N – Sorry that the prologue and first chapter are so short! Maybe they should be put together, but I just like the feel of them separate. I've changed my mind a few times, but this one will stay, I think. Even though putting them up independently makes them seem so desperately tiny!**

**This story is NOT suspended. I had thought I'd leave it until I finished "Foreigner," my Avatar: the Last Airbender fic, but…a couple people reviewed, and reminded my how much I do love this fic. So the progress might be low, but there WILL be more soon! (3/18/08)**


	3. Blood and Dirt

Chapter Two: Blood and Dirt

Simon dropped his sword and fell through the air, coughing as dirt and pebbles rained into his eyes and mouth. His brain barely understood what had happened – that he had been so _stupid _as to ignore his surroundings so completely, to act as if it were some training battle on a field at home. He had _given_ that Irish scum the opportunity to push him off the cliff.

He had not time to berate himself, only to act – now. Thoughts and feelings whipped confusingly around his mind like the rocks and dust that pelted his face as he dropped. But one roaring command rang out in his head, bypassing his mind and forcing his body to obey.

_Survive!_

Desperately, Simon grasped for some way to slow his descent. He leaned forward with all his might, instinctively digging his feet and forearms into the cliff face before him. Sharp stones protruding from the cliff face cut into his gauntlets and boots, tearing the thick leather as if it were thin as linen. He continued to fall, sliding speedily toward the ground below, but now that he had a kind of grip on the cliff, his drop felt more controlled.

A gargling scream rang out in the gorge behind him. Squinting out the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of one of his comrades falling helplessly. The man's body contorted inhumanely, as if it knew that a sudden stop and _thud_ would soon destroy it.

Simon shut his eyes, willing his ears to stop hearing as more soldiers plummeted past him. Down into the unforgiving, solid ground, or the treacherous waters below.

Almost before Simon was ready, his feet hit the bank at the base of the cliff. He reacted automatically, rolling onto his back to prevent the weight of his fall from crushing his ankles. His head pounded against the rough earth, and his eyes saw only white for a few moments.

Refusing to give himself time to recover, Simon grabbed at the sword that had barely clanged to the ground and whipped to his feet. Sure enough, a few cursed natives lay in wait, ready to slaughter any survivors. One man charged at Simon with his sword, aiming to kill. The boy disarmed him deftly, landing a blow with his sword across the savage's stomach. Another approached him from behind. He whirled in time to catch a glimpse of dark, hateful eyes furrowed in a scowl before he plunged his own sword into the man's chest.

The savage's unearthly scream echoed across the valley. The hairs raised on the back of Simon's neck. His opponent sagged on his sword, jerking his arm down with it as he dropped to the ground besides other fallen soldiers. British soldiers.

The dark eyes now lay open in death. Simon wrenched at his sword two or three times before it finally pulled free. His usually hardened stomach leapt painfully at the way the lifeless body convulsed with the shaking of his sword. He wanted to retch.

A pained moan momentarily stayed Simon's impulse. Had there been other survivors? All around him, soldiers lay broken. Dead. Probably his friends.

He heard it again. The sound trailed off into an inarticulate mutter. He dropped his sword to the earth and turned warily.

There. Just beneath a broken tree limb that bent into the lake's surface lay a shuddering form. He stumbled to the water's edge.

A soldier who had fallen just beside Simon now gasped for breath, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Aldan?" Simon whispered, recognizing the man lying before him. One of the teasers who had harrassed him for feeling claustrophobic. Aldan merely grunted and grimaced in response. His eyes squeezed shut, and it looked like all the blood in his veins had drained away from his face.

Kneeling beside his comrade, Simon lifted the older man's head onto the crook of his elbow. Simon didn't even register the feel of warm blood trickling onto his skin. He reached for Aldan's torso, intending to lift the man out of the water.

"Don't – " he spluttered, wincing as Simon touched his side. Beneath him, inky red trails wound through the muddy water. As if under the power of some spell, his hand reached unconsciously beneath the water, beneath Aldan's body. The rocks. Thick, sharp rocks that no current had ever dulled now penetrated deep into the wounded man's flesh.

The soldier reached for Simon, laying his weak arm across the teenager's shoulder. He tried to grip his collar, and his eyes shone with urgency.

"Kill me," he pleaded.

A shadow of doubt stole into Simon's eyes. His grip weakened; his hand dropped into the water. But Aldan's eyes burned intensely.

"You'll live," Simon said frantically, wishing he could back away. Physically supporting his comrade had chained him to the spot; he could not move. "Don't say that."

"Let – " He groaned, writhing in obvious pain. " – Let me die."

Simon's jaw set. "No," he whispered through clenched teeth.

Aldan laughed. Blood spurted from his lips and trickled down his chin.

"Coward."

He didn't remember pulling away, or stumbling to the rocky beach. He didn't remember how the others found him, whether he'd wandered aimlessly for hours and stumbled into thir camp, or whether they had sent out a party to investigate the damage done at the base of the cliff. Later, he would be able to vaguely recall the relief he saw in Kendrick's face before his body finally gave out. But he did remember clearly, the one word that rang in his ears for days, years, lifetimes afterward.

_Coward. You coward._

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**Written looooooooong ago, I thought I would expand it and combine it with chapter three...then I was like, "well what the heck? I still get positive reviews on my lame-o first chapter...I'll let ch 3 start being real-length."**

**So here you go. =3**

**Finished loooooong ago, not reviewed or rewritten since then, I just want it out so I can work on the already much longer chapter three in peace! ;)**

**P.S. ... Thank you all SO MUCH for the love and support, even when it seemed this fic was dead. Three years since last update...but even few and far between, I still get reviews asking for more. Thanks so much!**

**Updates will most certainly be sporadic, but now that I'm finally in some real creative writing classes with my English/Creative Writing major (junior year of college, w00t w00t!), I just am feeling more to WRITE, and not just edit/beta. Hugs for all!  
**


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